


Roaring in Our 20's

by NovemberNights



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 1920's Fashion, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, IN SPACE, and art deco, and wrote it at 3am the next day, i came up with this at 4am, i love the 1920s, i'm channeling the great gatsby, it's both, might add more characters idk, some combination of those
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberNights/pseuds/NovemberNights
Summary: Katie drops the client's file on the table, "I'm doingwhat?""You heard me. It's an extended assignment, so it'll be the perfect disguise while you're undercover.""You've got to be kidding me.""It comes with the job, darling," Allura coos, "I'm surprised you haven't had a case like this already, really. Now go try on this dress. We've got a week and a half to put together a wardrobe for you."Rolling her eyes, Katie shuts her holoscreen laptop, the backlit agency logo of VOLTRON on the lid changing from green to blue for sleep mode. She takes the outrageously expensive glimmering green dress with a matching headband from Allura and marches over to the closet to try it on.Mr. Keith Kogane had better have a worthwhile case.





	1. I Saw You Across the Room

**Author's Note:**

> Needed to get this out of my system because it was too good of an idea to pass up.
> 
> I have too many au ideas. Someone stop me.

Six inch heels and a brilliant green dress.

Backless.

Her hair is styled.

Her face is made up.

Allura said she looked absolutely divine.

Hunk said she looked very nice.

And Lance said—she'd rather forget what Lance said.

Shiro told her to focus on the task at hand before she stepped out of the limousine.

Pidge feels out of place. She almost isn't sure why she is here.

From her perch on a bar stool it isn’t hard to remember. The cluster of industrialist partygoers following her client around all evening make it rather obvious. She leans against the bar to peek around a tall guest to keep her eyes on him.

Keith Kogane, 25. Terran, though rumors suggested otherwise. Arus's most eligible bachelor. Arms manufacturer and recent inheritor of a family fortune with a net worth just shy of one billion GAC. Probably more since the file was drawn up.

She went to high school with him. Though, they'd moved in different circles then.

Now, at twenty three years of age, she's nursing a gin and tonic at a private bar on the 72nd floor of the Stardust Hotel, watching the twenty five year old billionaire in a crisp white suit across the room. She hadn't intended to have a drink.

She'd tried Taujeeri sushi for the first time today. Decided she wasn't a fan. If she’s lucky the alcohol will wash away the aftertaste.

A change in the activity surrounding Keith draws her attention to one of the many business moguls in the posse who seemed to have grown bored of listening and commandeered the group’s attention toward himself. Keith appears to take this as an opportunity to step back from the limelight a bit, and turns back into the crowd. Silently, Pidge thanks the talkative magnate; he’s provided her with an opportunity as well, finally giving her a chance to speak with Keith. 

Donning a polite smile as she slips down from her barstool, she works her way across the room and approaches the crowd around Keith. She hovers on the edge of the group of partygoers, feigning interest in the speaker while she navigates toward where she’d seen Keith, her eyes flitting among the faces in search of the rising tycoon.

When she spots him, his eyes are on her already. It catches her a little off guard, but she recovers in an instant and nods at him, flashing a pleasant smile before turning around and walking toward the glass doors that lead to the balcony. He should know the signal.

She pauses when she reaches the door, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to see if Keith followed her. A glimpse of him passing by the bar is all the confirmation she needs. She pulls the door open and steps outside into the night air and an empty balcony. Perfect.

The early summer air is warm with a light breeze. Though, on the 72nd floor of a high-rise hotel, the breeze is a little brisk. Pidge tucks her clutch in the crook of her arm and rubs her hands on her shoulders to chase away the chill bumps. Standing near the fence at the edge of the balcony, she can look out across the city of Arus, and upward, to the skyscrapers that stretch even higher than the Stardust Hotel, and the spaceport beyond in orbit around the planet. The sky is a dark, midnight hue, not unlike her client’s eyes that had been so oddly striking as to give her pause. Eyes she hadn’t expected to have seen her before she reached him. Even with heels her small stature put her head about level with most of the guests’ shoulders.

Or perhaps he had simply been a diligent client and actually read the information about her so that he’d know who to look for.

Behind her, she hears the door open, the quiet rush of indoor conversation spilling out momentarily, to be hushed again as the door is shut softly. She turns her head slightly, checking in her peripheral vision to see who it is.

It’s Keith.

That, at least, is expected. She takes her clutch from under her arm and pops the catch open, dipping into it to retrieve her agency I.D. It seems to have gotten shuffled around, and Keith’s shoes sound against the floor while she sorts through the contents of the clutch. She wasn’t sure why Allura had felt the need to include so many tools for an evening party with no anticipated drama. She spots the card underneath a memory stick disguised as a tube of lipstick and removes the tube first, but it slips from her cold fingers. A small gasp escapes her lips and she reaches out as the fake lipstick falls—only to be caught by another hand.

Surprised, Pidge blinks, and raises her eyes to find herself face to face with Keith Kogane. His eyes are on the tube in his hand, and they flick up to her as he straightens up.

He holds the fake lipstick out to her, “I believe this is yours?”

Pidge sets her shoulders back and looks away briefly, frustrated. _Way to go, being clumsy in front of a client. Pat yourself on the back for that one, Katie._

“...Yes,” she musters up her voice and meets his gaze, “Thank you.” The fake lipstick she takes from his palm and swaps it out with her I.D. in the clutch.

“Anyway,” she adds, lowering her voice as she hands him the card, “Mr. Keith Kogane, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am VOLTRON Agent Katie Holt, I'll be assigned to you for the duration of the case. You should address me as Pidge, however. Pidge Gunderson.”

Keith takes the card with the same hand he’d caught the fake lipstick in, and as he flips it over to study it, she notices the two flutes of champagne in his other hand. Likely he picked them up when he passed by the bar on his way to the balcony. He flips the card over again and hands it back to her with a slight bow.

“Well, Pidge. I’m glad to have you. We’ll discuss my… situation later,” he says quietly, setting down the flutes of champagne on the flat top along the fence. “For now, let’s talk. I can only stand business prattle for so long.”

Pidge returns her card to her clutch and snaps it shut, tucking it back under her arm while Keith speaks. The champagne she accepts, “What would you have me talk about?”

Keith slides his free hand into his pocket and turns out toward the city, “Good question…” he muses. He takes a sip from his champagne and hums to himself, “I was told you’re good with computers… and technology in general, really. Tell me about something that interests you.”

Pidge blinks, surprised again. Already, Keith seems quite enigmatic. “Are you sure? I’m a little bit of a nerd about it.”

A smile splits across Keith’s face for the first time that evening, “Even better.”

Pidge allows herself an amused smile of her own, sipping her champagne as she thinks of a suitable topic.

“So recently the Olkari announced a new energy storage device, you may have heard of it...”


	2. Persona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge finds out just what exactly pushed Keith to hire an agent of Voltron, and it's more than the files could ever tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been sitting on the better part of this chapter for a while & finally got it to a good stopping point? Maybe? I hope the end doesn't feel too sudden. Idk, whenever I open it up i'm too tired to make sense of the words, lol. School's been kicking my butt already(but I'm enjoying the work, there's just a lot of it. free time, who?)
> 
> Anyway, I had wanted to add some more to this but it might be better to cut it to another, shorter chapter bc this was _supposed_ to have shorter-ish chapters.

_“So here’s the plan. Here in about ten minutes we’ll leave. The party’s scheduled to end in about half an hour anyway._

_“We take the stairs at the end of the hall up to the roof, where there’s an air transport pad._

_“My helipod will be here to pick us up.”_

_“Is that how you avoid the paparazzi so easily?”_

_Keith chuckles sheepishly, “Yeah. Undoubtedly there were some that snaked their way into that party, but at the end of the night, I just want to go home. Wading through a sea of cameras isn’t my style.”_

_“I can’t blame you.”_

Pidge clutches Keith’s suit jacket tighter around her shoulders with a shiver. She’s up on the roof of the Stardust Hotel with Keith, who’s waving to the helipod over their heads that’s throwing the air around them into a frenzy. She doesn’t dare move to better cover for fear her feet may betray her in her heels due to the high winds. Somehow her hair is still in place. She can’t help but wonder what Allura must have put in it to give it such long lasting hold.

Keith shouts something above the wind, presumably to the helipod pilot, who now has the window open and is peering over the edge to the landing pad below. The air around the helipod settles somewhat as the engines rev down, and the helipod’s side door pops open. It unfolds into a few short steps, which Keith sets in place with his foot.

“Are you ready?” he calls over the wind, still noisy despite the decrease in speed.

“Of course,” Pidge nods, taking his outstretched hand as she approaches the steps. The inside of the helipod’s main compartment is carpeted and tastefully designed, but most importantly, warm, and she sighs as she sits down in one of the plush chairs. Keith steps inside after her, turning around to pull the door closed behind him. With the door sealed, the hum of the engines is hardly noticeable.

“That should do it,” Keith muses. He looks to Pidge, “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you. Would you like your jacket back?” He had insisted she take it after the breeze on the balcony became too cold while they were waiting for the party to wind down. Neither had much wanted to return indoors. “It’s nicely warm in here.”

“Only if you’re sure you don’t need it,” Keith shakes his head politely.

Pidge hums, “Perhaps til I warm up a bit more.”

“Take as long as you like,” he assures, pressing a button on a panel on the wall. The window between the cockpit and the main compartment is lowered, and he dictates some brief directions to the pilot.

“We’re headed to a restaurant that’s something of a well-kept secret,” he says, turning back to her as he sits in one of the chairs across from her. “I don’t eat much at events, so I like to stop there afterwards.”

“I can understand why,” Pidge says, reflecting on the odd sushi she’d tried earlier that evening.

Keith’s lips curl at the corners, a tiny hint of a smile, as he shifts his gaze to look out the window. “Ah, there’s the parking garage,” he says, after about a minute, “We’ll be landing shortly.”

“Already?”

Keith nods, “It’s not far.”

Their descent is smooth, and soon the door is pulling away from the side of the compartment. Pidge and Keith rise to take the newly formed stairs down to the pavement below.

“Oh,” Pidge starts as she steps away from the helipod, “You ought to have your jacket back. I’ll be fine.”

Keith nods graciously as she hands it to him, and carries it over his shoulder as he speaks with the pilot once more before rejoining her. He leads her toward a pair of plain looking doors in the wall of the tall building connected to the parking garage. Once inside, however, they are greeted by a small entryway with a coat room off to one side, and a set of wood carved double doors. Keith passes by the coatroom, instead going directly to push open the large wooden doors that open to a host's desk. Set back behind it is a large square bar and kitchen. A wall with many doors forms a corridor all the way around. Pidge wonders at the lack of tables, and the quiet of the room. Even the kitchen seems quieter than it should be.

"Reservation for Kogane," Keith tells the hostess quietly.

"You’ll be in the west Red room," the hostess says, guiding the two around the kitchen toward one of the doors. She swipes a finger across the panel on the door and it slides aside with a hushed woosh.

Pidge's eyes widen as she sees the small room inside. The table is draped with a pristine white tablecloth, embroidered around the edges with red threads. The chairs are wooden with plush, stitched cushions, and a miniature chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Real candles flicker from their places in the wall sconces, and the walls themselves are papered in subtly patterned red hues.

But none of it captures her attention like the view through the windows that take up the entire exterior wall. The city at night is stunning. Multi-colored lights climb the sides of skyscrapers, flashing and scrolling across holographic advertisements. Their light casts a glow onto the buildings around them and into the windows of offices like prisms. The helipods become nighttime fairies, their lights blinking through the air as they weave between the towering buildings. Far below, the lights of cars streak by, illuminating the river-like flow of traffic through the city streets. Everything moves in time to the commands of the traffic lights, both in the air and on the ground, much like circuitry. It’s a little bit mesmerizing.

Tearing her eyes away, Pidge turns her attention to the menu once she and Keith are seated. Everything is expensive, and for a moment her mind reels at the numbers, but nonetheless she orders something non-fishy, wanting to avoid a repeat experience from the party prior. She watches the hostess leave, turning to Keith once the door is shut behind her.

“So,” she starts, drawing Keith’s eyes away from the window, “If I’m catching on right, this restaurant is something of a place where under-the-table deals and other such private business matters are conducted.”

Keith’s eyes widen momentarily, and he nods, “You would be correct. Each of the dining rooms is sound-proofed to a certain degree. No worries about eavesdroppers or passerby hearing something they shouldn’t.”

Pidge takes a sip of her water, “Sounds like that comes from experience.”

“Business isn’t always on the level.”

She hums a nonchalant response. “Anyway, I’d like to hear about this situation of yours from you. I get the feeling the files skipped on some of the details.”

Keith gives her an appraising look, “Very observant. That’s good,” he pauses. “As you know, I own the arms manufacturing company Red Lion Armory. It’s been wildly successful in the past few years since the DSRT-Pulsar went on the market. It’s the most efficient firearm of its class, both in production and in combat. The Empire wants it, the Rebels want it, merchants, mercenaries, security forces, and bounty hunters want it, and everyone in between with a reason to have it.”

“And do you supply them all?”

“...Yes,” Keith says tentatively, “More or less. We sell to the Empire because to not sell to them would be highly suspect. Selling to mercs and whatnot is casual business. For the Rebels, sales are more low-key. I am also more in favor of the Rebels, so if they pay discount or receive extra… we don’t mention it."

_Pro-Rebellion._ That checks out with the files, Pidge muses

“Regardless, there are some people that don’t like my supplying multiple factions, though I’ve managed to play it off as a matter of business for a while. But, I knew eventually it would become a problem, just not as soon as it has,” Keith adds.

“How so?”

Keith sighs, “My contacts and I are suspicious that someone, possibly a rival business or someone with ties to the Empire, is plotting against either me or Red Lion. And not merely sabotage,” Keith pauses to take a sip of his water.

“Have you seen the articles about the food poisoning at the charity evening party held two months ago at the Atlas event center?”

Pidge nods, “What about it?” She’s beginning to get the feeling that this case is more involved than the files let on.

“Everyone that fell ill reportedly ate the same foods. All of which were foods claimed by the media rumor mills to be my favorites,” Keith explains, rolling his eyes. “None of which are true, and this is part of why I choose not to eat at parties when possible. Something similar happened at another event two weeks prior to the Atlas. There’s been a number of other incidents, and while nothing bad has happened yet, it’s obvious something’s going on.”

“And that’s why I’m here.”

“Exactly. I hadn’t wanted to at first, as I’m more than capable of defending myself, but I was talked into going to Voltron for help. It’d be beneficial to have another pair of eyes at events, as well as assistance on figuring out who is behind this and what their plan is.”

Pidge hums, resting her chin on her hand, “A wise decision.”

“And the arrangements for the duration of the case, you’re okay with them?”

Pidge notes the genuine look of concern in the young businessman’s face as he asks the question, and smiles wryly at him as she recalls Allura revealing that particular detail of her undercover persona. She’d be posing as Keith’s girlfriend, allowing her to stay nearby without arousing suspicion. She’d thought it odd at first, but had (with an initial reluctance) agreed to Allura’s plan. Now that she’s met Keith, she has to admit, it’s a good plan. And Keith seems pleasant enough.

“Yeah, I’m fine with it. It’s usually the kind of case Allura would take, or even Lance, but I knew I’d have a case like this eventually. I hope your acting is decent,” she smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this takes a huge influence from the 1920's i want to try to sprinkle in 20's slang a bit. This chapter there's just one;
> 
> 'on the level' means legitimate, honest, clean.


	3. A Lot to Unpack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith and Pidge drive back to Keith's very large house, in Keith's very cool car, as Pidge will be staying with him for the duration of the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This chapter is going to be shorter" I said.  
"This fic planned overall to be kinda short" I said.  
This chapter is the longest of the three so far.  
I've realized how very sorely I miscalculated my ability to write shorter things.  
Though I doubt anyone will complain ;)

Pidge steps out onto the roof of the parking garage with Keith, her gaze turning skyward as she follows him a short distance away from the door. It’s well past midnight, and the sky traffic has diminished, granting her a clearer view of Arus’s skyscrapers and the spaceport beyond.

“No helipod?” she asks.

Keith shakes his head and produces a key fob from his pocket, “No. I was doing some shopping nearby earlier today and parked my car here. Then I called my helipod to take me to the Stardust event.”

“Ah,” Pidge hums thoughtfully, “Though, where is your car?”

“Right there,” Keith says, pointing the key fob at the carbon grey and purple sportscar exiting the ramp onto the roof. It glides toward them and stops in line with Keith, the blade-like emblem on its hood glowing neon purple.

“Oh, its Marmoran?”

Keith eyes her curiously, “You’re familiar with them?” he asks, reaching down to open the passenger side door. It slides upward, revealing the pristine leather interior of the vehicle.

“The technology Marmora uses in their vehicles is fascinating,” Pidge muses, “They keep it under wraps, though.”

“That’s true,” Keith nods, reaching into the car. “Let me get these out of the way for you,” he says, retrieving a pair of pastel colored shopping bags from the footwell. He steps around to the front and pops the hood open to store the bags, adding “This one’s a Blade convertible, with a removable hard top and a driving mode. I’m quite impressed with it.”

“You drive?” Pidge asks, surprised as she steps inside the car. Most of Arus’s vehicles are autonomous, and not many people bother owning one, much less learning to drive.

Keith nods, walking around to get in on the driver’s side, “I prefer to be in control of where I’m going. And driving cars like this is exhilarating. There’s nothing else like it.”

Pidge watches in awe as the doors slide back into place after Keith switches the car off autonomous mode and soft purple lights glow throughout the interior. There’s music playing at low volume on the sound system as Keith drives the car to the ramp and out of the parking garage.

From the street, the city’s buildings seem to stretch forever into the sky, their smooth glass sides decorated with brightly lit signs. There’s considerably fewer cars on the road now than when Shiro had dropped Pidge off at the party. It’s a little enchanting.

“If you want, I can open the sunroof,” Keith offers quietly.

Pidge looks over at the billionaire, “Really?”

“You’re gonna love this,” he reaches for a button near the rear view camera display, and taps it once. A soft hum in the roof draws Pidge’s gaze, and she watches the panel in the center slide back, revealing a window easily large enough for her to fit her body through.

“Wow,” she gasps, peering directly up into the sky. It’s a different view from whatever angle her neck provides with her face pressed against the window in the door. Sure, she’s seen the city from cars a million times, but the view through the roof is something else.

Soon the buildings begin to grow shorter in stature until they leave the city entirely, driving to the hills on the outskirts. Pidge recalls that there is a neighborhood in the area, dotted with long-established estates belonging to some of Arus’s wealthiest inhabitants.

And then it strikes her that that is _exactly_ where they’re going, and she focuses her gaze on the road ahead of them, silently wondering what sort of house Keith lives in. He hadn’t said anything since opening the sunroof, and her late-night muddled brain hadn’t thought to ask about it. It isn’t long, however, until Keith turns off onto a driveway winding back up into the hills, and a sizeable mansion comes into view.

Pidge plants her chin in her hand and looks at the house through her window as Keith pulls up outside what appears to be the front entrance.

“We’re here,” Keith announces tiredly, and shifts the car into park. He taps a button to open the doors, then steps out and moves around to remove the bags from earlier from the trunk in the hood. He meets Pidge as she leaves her seat and closes the door behind her with his key fob.

“I’ll ask Iverson to turn it in for the night,” Keith mutters to himself, “Shall we head in?” he asks, turning to Pidge.

She bobs her head, falling into step with Keith, “Who’s Iverson, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“An old family friend and my head of staff for the estate. He’s usually here late on event nights, just in case.”

Pidge hums in acknowledgement as they mount the steps leading to the front door, her gaze drawn upward to the vaulted ceiling of the portico supported on either side by sturdy-looking pillars. The house, no, _mansion,_ is an off-white stone, and appears larger up close than from the driveway.

Keith keys in on the panel next to the door and leads her inside as they swing open automatically. The foyer is moderately sized, big enough to be impressive but small enough to be comfortable with only a few people in it. A double staircase winds up and around the back side of the room, and a number of doors lead off to other parts of the house. A few tasteful decorations dot the room, which is mostly geometric in style, and colored with warm hues and hints of gold. Overall a very classy look.

Keith makes his way over to a slim, narrow table along one wall, a screen embedded into its surface. After flipping through the interface, he taps out a quick message and then leaves his key fob on the table as he turns back to Pidge.

“That’ll take care of the car,” he says. “I’ll show you to your room, and then give you a tour in the morning, if that sounds okay?”

“That’s alright. I could use a good night’s rest.”

Nodding, Keith waves her over to one of the staircases, “Upstairs is mostly bedrooms,” he explains as they ascend, “The dining room is to the left of the front door though, if you’re hungry in the morning.”

Pidge nods, turning left at the top of the stairs behind Keith, “Good to know. And, where are the bathrooms?”

“You have a private bathroom in your bedroom,” Keith pauses by the third door down, “And this is your room.” He turns the handle and pushes the door open, revealing a spacious room with soft green tones set against black furniture.

A large bed fills a good portion of the room, its plush, pastel green quilt a welcoming sight. The room is equipped with a full suite of furnishings, including a cozy reading nook with a velvety black chair and a cushioned chest at the foot of the bed. Two more sets of double doors adorn the walls, one of which likely leading to the bathroom Keith had mentioned. Stepping into the room, Pidge feels her feet sink into the soft, white carpet even with her heels on, and suddenly the full extent of her exhaustion hits her as she realizes just how long she’s been wearing the emerald-colored death traps Allura put on her feet. She internally grimaces as she recalls the fifteen other pairs Allura had picked out for her. _Fifteen._

Moving carefully, Pidge walks over to the cushioned chest and sits down, looking around the room. The whole space feels so comfortable. Something on the other side of the bed catches her eye, and she regrettably stands up again to take a closer look.

“Are these… my bags?” she asks, looking over the set of black luggage tucked up against the wall near the closet door (which appears to be a walk-in closet, judging by the lack of clothing storage furniture in the room).

“That they are,” Keith confirms from his place by the door, “Someone from your agency came by and dropped them off this morning. Most everything should be stored up in the closet already, but I was told to inform you that those contain anything you might need for the job, as well as your personal gear.”

“Ah, that makes sense. I’ll want to sort through those myself,” Pidge hums, poking her head into the closet curiously. It’s full of clothes. Absolutely stuffed to the brim. By the looks of it, Allura must have gone out and gotten more. Pidge rolls her eyes and shuts the door, turning back to Keith.

“This is… really something,” she pauses, stifling a yawn with her hand, “Thank you.”

Keith shakes his head, “It’s the least I can do. You’re doing me a huge favor by simply agreeing to this crazy plan.” He shifts the bags in his hands and walks over to set them on the chest by the bed, “I made sure to have the bathroom stocked, but just in case, I went out and picked up a few more miscellaneous toiletries and the like this afternoon. Even still, if you find that you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Pidge offers a tired smile, “That’s wonderful, thank you. At the moment I think all I need is sleep, but I’ll keep that in mind if anything comes up.”

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to it. My room is at the end of the hall to the right; if something should happen and you need me for whatever reason, just knock,” Keith says, stepping out of the room. “Have a good night,” he adds, and flashes her a faint smile of his own as he pulls the door shut behind him.

The door clicks shut, and Pidge listens to the sound of his footsteps receding in the hall before allowing herself to heave a deep sigh. It feels good to just breathe, and as she sits down on the chest to take her heels off, the deep, soft pile of the carpet feels like clouds under her toes. She soon picks up her shoes and ambles over to the closet, relishing the freedom of her feet from their stilettoed prison.

Opening the closet door a second time, she slips inside to return the shoes to their newfound place on a rack. She also changes clothes, swapping out her dress for a set of silk pajamas she finds thanks to Allura’s dutiful labelling. Cozy in her pajamas, her curiosity draws her to the bathroom. And, well, she really ought to shower. 

As promised, the bathroom is _very_ well stocked, not to mention quite large as well. The shower alone looks big enough for her to lie down on the floor and still have room. As she pokes around in the cabinets, Pidge finds a number of hair products, lotions, soaps, makeup, razors, brushes, hair clips, and more. There’s a whole shelf full of fluffy, white towels, and she plucks one from the stack as she gathers items to take into the shower, inhaling the fresh scent of clean linen. When she’s finished she wraps herself in the towel to dry before slipping into her pajamas, and it feels like a soft, warm hug. 

_I’m going to be spoiled rotten if I stay here too long,_ she muses, flicking off the bathroom lights as she tousles her hair dry. Crossing the room, she pauses by the chest at the foot of the bed, her eyes landing on the pastel colored shopping bags Keith had left for her.

Curiosity had been nagging at her the whole time she was in the shower.

Pidge squeezes the last of the water from her hair, then folds up her towel and rests it beside the bags. She pulls back some of the tissue paper stuffed into one of the bags and peers inside. It’s full of products from expensive brands, and she wonders what store they’re from. Some of them she doesn’t even recognize.

At first glance, it’s just more soaps and such for her to choose from, but as she removes more of the tissue paper, she can see the shape of some other items, and a quiet gasp escapes her lips.

Inside the bag, there’s a selection of women’s hygiene products. The bathroom was by no means short on them, but Keith had picked up more anyway, and nice ones at that. Pidge’s mind reels at the thought. Had Allura mentioned something? Did he think to get them himself? Or was it the work of a particularly savvy salesperson?

Pidge shakes her head, dismissing her silly thoughts, and picks up the bags to move them into the bathroom. She appreciates them regardless of what had prompted their contents, and she certainly won’t let them go to waste.

Turning back to the bedroom, Pidge searches for a clock, and soon finds one located on one of the nightstands. She stares at the time in mild disappointment. It’s well past two in the morning. She had wanted to crack open her laptop and write up some notes from the evening’s events, but given the time, and the protesting of her feet, Pidge gives in to her exhaustion. She’ll have time to unpack everything tomorrow anyway. She reaches for the light switch and plunges the room into darkness, ready to get some sleep.

Shuffling over to the bed so as to savor the soft sensation of the carpet underfoot, Pidge climbs onto the bed and flops backward, her arms splayed out like a starfish. And it’s comfortable. It’s oh-so-wonderfully comfortable. She slides underneath the blankets, breathing in their faintly perfumed scent as her body melts into the mattress and sleep claims her mind.

So far, Mr. Kogane’s case has proved promising.

Hopefully it stays that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want more free time to write things .n.


	4. Glitterbomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura, disguised as one of "Pidge Gunderson's" offworld friends, drags the undercover agent out for a bit of shopping while they discuss upcoming plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Allura gets an undercover agent name too!
> 
> How fitting is it that I post a new chapter of a 1920's AU on the first day of 2020?!?

Pidge sips her coffee while scrolling around the map on her phone’s screen, languidly watching the soft pink car icon draw nearer to her location. She taps her foot idly to the quiet, jazzy music playing in the café. Allura’s taking too long. Well, longer than she’d like.

_Traffic must be bad._

She looks at the time on her phone. It’s not quite noon yet. Grumbling quietly to herself, her eyes move back to the pink car, following it as it turns a corner. 

_Close enough._

Pidge rises and pushes her chair in, taking one last deep breath of coffee-scented air before stepping outside onto the sidewalk to wait for Allura to arrive. It’s comfortably warm outside despite being midday in late summer, and a light breeze tugs at her hat and the frills of her lemonade-yellow shirt when she leans toward the road, trying to catch a glimpse of Allura’s ride. A bright flash of silver catches her eye, and she clamps a hand down on her hat to keep it from flying off when Allura’s spotless silver Atlas pulls up to the curb. The rear door slides back, and Pidge steps inside, laying her hat across her knees as she scoots in next to Allura.

“Pidge! Hello, hello, how have you been?” Allura exclaims before Pidge has time to buckle in, much less register that she’s using her alias.

Blinking as the buckle clicks, Pidge smiles, “I’ve been well, Al—”

“Ah, ah!” Allura presses a finger to the younger woman’s lips, “Astra. We’re going shopping.”

Pidge nods, watching as Allura closes her eyes and her skin turns a cheery blue hue with soft yellow tiger stripes, her stature shrinking somewhat as broad streaks of indigo appear in her curled silver hair.

Allura, or Astra, opens her eyes and pulls out a small mirror from her handbag, inspecting her reflection, “Perfect! For now on I’ll look like this when we meet while you’re on this case. And I’ll use the name Astra.”

“Gotcha. Who’re you mimicking this time?”

“Tifrils. Lovely people with great talent in the arts,” Astra replies, tucking her mirror away. “Now, I know we’ve already stocked you with an extensive wardrobe, but just in case, I’d like to go to a few more stores just to figure out what size you wear at each. And it’s a good way for us to talk.”

Pidge feels her shoulders slump, “Promise we don’t buy anything?”

A sorry-not sorry smile tugs at Astra’s lips, “You know I can’t do that.”

Pidge rolls her eyes, “Fine, whatever. Where are we headed, then?”

“Here!” Astra grins, pointing out her window to a row of ornate-looking department stores.

“Al— Astra, no,” Pidge retorts, correcting herself, “I cannot go in there. I will die on the doormat and combust into glitter.”

“Nonsense!” Astra cries, already getting out of the car and tugging Pidge along with her, “We’ll be quick, I promise.”

***

“Astra, please tell me this is the last one.”

“Ah, well…”

“_Astra,_” Pidge groans, glaring at the dressing room curtain.

“Just. A few?”

“It’s been at least two hours and we’re only in the second store.”

“The first one doesn’t count! Nothing fit you there.”

“They hardly fit _here,_” Pidge grumbles, pushing the curtain aside to show Astra the red tunic dress she’d just tried on, “This one might actually fit though.”

The disguised Altean puts a hand to her chin and hovers around Pidge for a moment, her critical gaze focused on the dress, “I like it. We’ll see if there’s anything like it later.”

“Why this one?”

“For one, it fits, which is amazing. Also, you already have a lot of green. Red is a good contrast.”

Pidge hums, “Well. Alright then.”

“But that aside, let’s talk. How did your “surprise” meeting go?” Astra asks, fingers curling into air quotes.

Pidge sits down on one of the plush chairs in the private dressing room they'd been given—one of the perks of high-end boutiques, "It went well. Keith's a better actor than he thinks he is."

"Oh?"

Pidge nods, "Had it been real and not a planned encounter, I'd have genuinely thought he just happened to be at the café."

"Wonderful. And he mentioned the charity dinner?"

"Of course, Astra. He's far from stupid. Quite the opposite, really."

"I told you it wouldn't be a miserable job."

Rolling her eyes, Pidge gets up from her chair, "So long as this works."

"Step one is to integrate you into his circle in a way that seems natural. One or two chance meetings here, attendance to the same event there, and soon enough you'll be his plus one."

"And let the rumor mills have their day, I know," Pidge says, reaching for the dressing room curtain. She pulls it shut behind her and tugs at the zipper on the dress, "I'm just glad I'm actually able to hold a conversation with him."

"Oh really?"

"Some of my clients have been very… aloof. It's hard to work well with them when they're dead set on being boring and the only thing they say to me is ‘Just do your job and it'll be fine,’" Pidge mimics with a faux-grumpy voice.

"What makes Keith different? From what I know of him, he generally keeps to himself," Astra remarks.

"You're not wrong. But I think he's just bored. He's willing to talk with me to plan things out rather than deferring completely to me—he wants to be involved. And when I met him at the Stardust Hotel, he was more than happy to let me talk about just about anything other than business," she pauses to hang the red dress up before grabbing the next one Astra had picked out for her. "From what I can gather from our conversations, it seems like he's a rebel in a business man's body." _And from what little I knew of him in school, that hasn't changed too much._

"It's no wonder he's an arms manufacturer."

“It fits perfectly.”

“Really? Show me, show me!” Astra exclaims.

“What? No, I meant Keith! His company makes perfect sense for someone like him.”

“_Oh._”

Pidge can hear the sigh her friend lets out, undoubtedly accompanied with a good-natured pout, “Now, is there anything else here you want me to try on, or can we move along?”

Astra hums, and Pidge can hear the rustle of fabric before she gets a chipper, “Nope!” in response.

Shoving her feet into her pants before Astra has a chance to rethink her decision, Pidge grins, “Finally! I’m ready to get out of here.”

“Ah-ah, not so fast,” Astra chides with a smile as Pidge emerges from the dressing room in her street clothes, “Hand me that red dress.”

Rolling her eyes, Pidge grabs the dress hanging on the wall and passes it to Astra’s outstretched hand, “Happy?”

“Very. We can leave the rest here, but this one I’m curious about.”

Pidge lets out a dry “Huzzah,” and checks the time on her phone as she follows her friend through the store; it’s already past four in the afternoon. She fights the urge to groan in impatience while Astra discusses the dress with one of the clerks. When she finally shuts up and turns to leave, Pidge grabs her wrist and guides her to the exit, determined to prevent Astra from getting distracted by any more dresses.

Stepping outside onto the sidewalk, Pidge takes a deep breath of fresh, unperfumed air as she releases her hold on Astra’s wrist.

“Goodness, that was a bit rough,” she mopes playfully, rubbing her wrist where Pidge’s hand had been.

“Oh please, you’re fine. And it’s after four o’clock! We’ve been shopping all afternoon!”

Astra puts a finger to her chin, “Hm, I suppose you’ll need to get back soon. It’s a bit of a drive from here.”

Pidge feels her shoulders sag, “Yes, yes, _that,_” she urges, eager for any excuse to escape the department stores.

“Alright then. I’ll call the car, we can go get dinner, and then take you back. How does that sound?” Astra asks, pulling out her phone.

“Like a dream come true,” Pidge deadpans.

Astra smiles wryly as she calls the chauffeur briefly and returns her phone to her handbag, “Pidge, Pidge, whatever will we do with you,” she shakes her head, “I hope you can build up a tolerance, else all these fancy events might wear you down.”

Pidge stiffens, “W-well, I’ll get used to it. I just don’t have to enjoy it,” she grumbles.

Astra chuckles to herself, “I think you’ll find yourself warming up to it. Oh, look, there’s the car,” she grabs Pidge’s arm and drags her to the curb.

Pidge presses a hand to her head to keep her hat in place, “I’ll keep an open mind.”

“Good to hear,” Astra smiles as she steps into the vehicle, quickly pulling up a map on the tablet screen inside while Pidge slides in beside her, “Now, where should we go eat…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kindof an intermission sort of chapter, but I felt it necessary to space things out. I'm excited for what's to come :D


	5. Sterling Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of Katie's first major event as Pidge Gunderson has arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy another chapter! I wish our current 20's were as Roaring as this au...
> 
> Thought about letting this chapter be longer but I think it's got a good stopping point and will leave the other half with some good content too. Enjoy!

Katie tightens an earring and checks her reflection as she adjusts the geometric silver teardrops hanging from her ears. Her hair is done up in delicate finger waves, heavily gelled to hold them in place for the night. A delicate silver hair clip disguises a miniature recording device. She inspects her handiwork with her hair and makeup, a skill she had recently developed thanks in no small part to Allura's meticulous lessons in preparation for the case. Satisfied, she turns her attention to tapping the holopolish on each of her nails, adjusting the design to an elegant, transparent glitter that goes well with her silver-beaded grey dress. 

It's been nearly two weeks since the Stardust Hotel, and she's been making appearances at some of Arus's popular locations to create a presence for herself. Pidge Gunderson is, after all, on an extended trip representing her sickly father's investment interests. Katie smirks to herself as she turns away from the mirror—it’s quite a solid cover personality. She plucks her shoes for the evening off the chest by the bed and sits down, only to stand back up when she hears a knock at the door. 

Shoes still in hand, she tiptoes over so as not to trip on the sheer hem of her dress and pulls the door open. Standing in the hallway is Keith, sporting a slick silvery-grey suit with a bold red tie and pocket square. His cufflinks shine with the crimson Red Lion logo as he raises a hand in greeting, seemingly somewhat surprised by her quick response.

“Hello, Keith,” she chirps. Keith relaxes at her reception, tucking a hand into his pants pocket.

“Hey, Pidge,” he recovers, “I came to let you know I’ve brought the car around front, whenever you’re ready.”

The plan is to arrive separately, but he’ll be driving them to the rendezvous point where Shiro is waiting for her with the V.O.L.T.R.O.N. limousine. 

She holds up the strappy, silver heels in her hands, “I’ll be ready in a few more minutes. Meet you downstairs?”

Keith’s eyes dart to the shoes in her hands before quickly scanning her appearance, as if cataloguing what to look for at the event. He nods, “Of course, take your time. I’ll be down in the foyer.”

“Thank you,” Katie smiles, closing the door after he heads toward the stairs. A chime from behind pulls her to the desk where her computer is set up, green lights pulsing amidst the dark metal casings. Peering at the monitor while she sits and slips her shoes on, she skims through the list of guests at the night’s event once more, tucking the information away in her brain. When she finishes buckling her shoes she disconnects her V.O.L.T.R.O.N. communicator from the computer and snaps the device—recently refitted into a compact mirror-like shell—shut and tucks it away in a silver snakeskin-patterned clutch with the rest of her gadgets. Picking up her summer shawl off the back of her chair, she turns toward the door.

And stops as she passes by the floor length mirror.

To be honest, she hadn’t really gotten a good look at herself the night she started Keith’s case. She knew her hair was expertly styled, and how brilliantly green her dress was, and how Allura had fussed over her makeup for what seemed like hours. The other V.O.L.T.R.O.N. agents had all assured her that she looked stunning. A perfectly cut emerald flecked with gold.

But now she has to stop and _really_ look at herself. Because how could she not? She looks every bit the part of an intergalactic investor’s daughter as much as she could hope for. At a glance, Katie might pass her reflection off as someone else, too perfectly put together to be _her_, surely. But she spots her characteristic freckles on her cheeks and nose, and the curve of her eyebrows and the point of her chin, and she finds herself agreeing with her fellow agents. She looks _good_.

She sets her shoulders back and gives her reflection a confident smile. She’s trained for this. Any tool she could possibly need is tucked away in her little silver clutch. She knows the guest list, and she and Keith have gone over the plan for the night more than enough.

Everything’s jake.

Pidge Gunderson steps out into the hallway and joins Keith in the foyer.

***

Stepping out of her limo, Pidge is greeted by the thousand lights of Arus’s paparazzi.

She takes a deep breath and smiles.

She strikes a pose—practiced under Lance’s attentive guidance.

She strides toward the door, answering a few of the questions hurled at her as she goes, if only to further cement the identity of Pidge Gunderson in the city’s upper crust. Yes, Gunderson is interested in pursuing new investments on Arus. No, her father’s illness shouldn’t cause any problems for current arrangements. Yes, Gunderson is excited about donating to a worthy cause tonight; it’s simply the _yalmor’s yell_.

Little do they know that Mr. Gunderson does not exist.

Hiding her amusement behind a polite smile she enters the venue, shutting the doors on the clamor of the reporters. Inside the lobby it’s much, much quieter, but she has mere moments to enjoy it as an attendant hurries over to her, offering to take her summer shawl to the coatroom. Pidge agrees, and shrugs off the lacey linen garment, handing it to the attendant as another takes his place and ushers her toward the main door whilst rattling off the selected menu items for the night.

“Could you repeat the last two desserts?” she asks as she follows the attendant into an antechamber where other guests are mingling before the event begins. She spots a few people she recognizes from the Stardust hotel, but Keith isn’t there yet, as planned.

“Olkari-Style Crème Brûlée, and Juniberry Torte, Miss Gunderson.”

There’s something oddly sophisticated about hearing _Miss Gunderson_ outside of V.O.L.T.R.O.N. case practice.

“Hmm, the Juniberry Torte sounds interesting,” Pidge hums, tapping a finger to her chin, casting her gaze about the room in hopes of spotting Allura’s disguise.

“Excellent! Your seat will be number seventy-three, Miss Gunderson,” the attendant adds, tapping her tablet to bring up a diagram of the dining room with the seat in question highlighted at a table on the right side of the room.

“Wonderful, thank you,” Pidge says, giving the attendant a pleasant smile on her way to the table of hors d'oeuvres. She’s thankful for the low profile of her heels for the night—she needn’t worry about maintaining her balance with every step toward the table of colorful finger-foods. Canapés, Toasts and Tarts, Palmiers, Bruschetta, fruit trays, sauces, dips and fondues decorate the table. Some of these, at least, she recognizes.

At least none of it is Taujeeri sushi.

“The Naxellan vegetable kebabs are heavenly, if you’re after something light,” says the man in the navy and grey satin suit next to her in line, appraising the colorful appetizer with a voice like silk.

Pidge tears her eyes away from the table to look at the man to her left holding one of the Naxellan kebabs between his fingers. He’s tall, perhaps a little taller than Keith, with skin a light purple that is markedly Galran.

“Is that so?” she asks, selecting a few stuffed Balmeran olives from a dish. She sidesteps as the line moves slightly and looks back up at the stranger curiously. He seems… familiar. Like someone she should recognize.

“Certainly,” he smiles politely, and Pidge notices his iris and pupils are visible—a trait rarely found in full-blooded Galra. “Here, you might like to try one,” he adds, his long, white hair falling over one shoulder as he turns to pluck a second kebab from the tray now out of her reach.

Pidge spots his pointed, Altean-like ears as his hair shifts, and immediately she knows why she recognizes him. She sidesteps again as the line moves, and she takes the opportunity to turn her gaze to the floor, watching the sheer hem of her dress while she moves her feet.

Lotor. Twenty-seven year old nephew of the biggest banker in the galaxy, Sendak. Took after his uncle’s business ventures before being selected to oversee one third of the Imperial Armorers as well as Quintessence refineries in the Sagittarius sector. Supposedly the illegitimate son of Emperor Zarkon, if certain sources of intel are to be believed. And, on the guest list for tonight.

Lotor steps with the line, turning back to her with a second Naxellan kebab in hand, pulling her attention from the floor.

“I hear the chef of tonight is especially skilled with these,” he adds, offering the skewered vegetables to her.

“I don’t usually accept treats from gentlemen whose names I do not know,” Pidge responds cheekily, throwing a smile into the mix. He might be worth talking to.

The Galran business mogul chuckles good-naturedly, “My, where are my manners?” a polite smile crosses his lips as he bows a little, “I am Lotor Sincline. I handle a number of Imperial production operations in the stellar neighborhood. I hope you’ll pardon me, Miss…?”

Pidge gives him a pursed-lipped smile, “Pidge Gunderson, pleased to meet you,” she replies, taking the kebab from him with practiced delicacy. “I’m representing my father’s investments on Arus while he’s ill. It’s a rather nice place.”

Small talk. Katie grimaces inwardly, but it pays to be diligent. Connections are everything in this case.

“Well it’s a pleasure meeting you, Miss Gunderson. However I cannot say I am familiar with your father’s name,” Lotor posits.

Pidge flaps a hand, all nonchalance, “Oh, father does tend to keep to himself, he’s a rather quiet man. When mother passed he took to keeping his books and hasn’t made much of a presence since. This trip was supposed to be a big excursion for him, but he is getting on in age.”

“Oh,” Lotor’s brows knit, “my condolences, Miss Gunderson.”

“Well, she lived a full life, and this trip to Arus is good experience,” Pidge explains. They’re nearing the end of the table, she notices. She selects a small sandwich square to keep up appearances.

“A silver lining, then,” Lotor pauses, eyes flicking across the room. Pidge pretends not to notice.

“I must apologize Miss Gunderson, but I’ll have to cut this conversation short, it seems I’m being called away. It was nice talking with you.”

“Have a good evening,” she smiles prettily, folding up her napkin of hors d’oeuvres behind her back. She watches him cross the room to the bar, which is dry at the moment, and slips the napkin parcel into the waste bin at the end of the table.

Keith had been adamant that she be careful with the foods at the event. She never intended to eat her now-discarded hors d’oeuvres.

Milling about the room to pass the time, she looks to where Lotor had gone, but he seems to be caught up in casual conversation with a group of smart dressed guests. Nothing too unusual.

“Pidge, darling, it’s been _ages!_ How are you?” cries a voice that could only belong to her friend and colleague Allura.

In disguise, of course. The brilliant, star-spattered indigo of her dress matches perfectly with her hair.

Pidge turns to greet her friend with a genuine smile and answers with a lie, “Astra! I didn’t know you’d be here tonight! I’m having such a swell time on Arus, you wouldn’t believe.”

Astra laughs behind a well-manicured hand, “Well that’s good to hear. What brings you to Madam Sterling’s annual charity dinner?”

Pidge fights the urge to smirk—this conversation is scripted, but they’re pulling it off flawlessly.

“Oh, father usually makes an effort to donate during his trips. It happened to line up with the plans this year, among a few others,” she keeps her voice up as the room is getting crowded, but just enough for anyone nearby to catch bits of their conversation.

“That’s wonderful, I’m sure Madam Sterling will be pleased—oh, it appears they’re leading everyone into the dining room,” Astra interrupts herself, looking over her shoulder at the intricate double-doors opening up to the adjacent room.

“Where will you be sitting?” Pidge asks conversationally as she and Astra join the other guests flowing into the dining room.

“Seat 116, you?”

“Seventy-three.”

“A shame, we’re not nearby. Well, until next time!” Astra smiles, waving at Pidge as they get through the door and are ushered away to their respective seats.

Tonight, the mission truly begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1920's slang glossary:  
jake - okay, fine, great  
yalmor's yell - au adapted version of the cat's meow/bee's knees
> 
> And since I spent way too long looking up dress references because there's way too many 1920's flapper Halloween costumes(which were not exactly the dominant style, but I won't bore you all with a tangent on old fashion), Pidge's dress looks like a combination of [this](https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/Q3EAAOSw2NhcXcXE/s-l400.jpg) and [this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/72/61/0e/72610eeb467be2ba8ac6770fc08f2be6.jpg)
> 
> You can thank extended spring break for giving me time to write, haha. I hope everyone's doing okay!


End file.
